Hey, so, I went to the DMV yesterday to renew and upgrade my driver’s license.

I was nearly as nervous walking into License Express on West 30th Street as I am before I get mic’d to go onstage before 1500 people.

A Real ID was the goal so I could use it for domestic flights instead of my unwieldy passport that somehow NEVER opens to the photo page, but not worth sweating.

The urgent part is that my license is about to expire — and if it does, I’ll have to take the driver’s test again. Despite recent driving lessons, I’d almost certainly flunk. (You can read about that in my book, Tough Titties. Chapter: “The Most Driven Person You Know.”)

It should be a simple thing, getting your license renewed. But in the past, I’ve been sent away three times in one day for missing documents — and then found the place closed when I finally returned with everything.

Last year, I double-, triple-, quadruple-checked all my items, got through the photo part, and then waited 2.5 hours before giving up. I had dinner plans, and an official told me it could be another hour. Peace, y’all.

So you might understand why, when I approached Window 2 yesterday and scrambled to get out my Folder of Proof (which I’d had Steven help me assemble), I was giving off such chaotic energy that the staffer said, “Hi, you’re OK, you’re OK, take your time, I’m here to help.” As if he was an EMT loading me into an ambulance.

I took a deep breath and shook out my arms, explaining that I’d been disqualified and sent home before and was worried it would happen again.

I didn’t say it, but I was also nervous I’d botch the eye exam, even with my glasses. I’ve been thinking the prescription might need updating.

Jay (per his nametag) repeated “take your time, it’s OK, I’ve got you” each time he needed my signature or reminded me to add the date. Filling in the paperwork felt like defusing a bomb.

It wouldn’t just have been a hassle to get turned away again; it would’ve been humiliating.

Coincidentally, literally on my way home from the DMV, I learned through a Voxer memo (from a Shrimp Club alum who’s been interviewing other members for me) that many of them had once felt that same way about applying to join.

They’d waited years before daring to, because they thought they weren’t qualified and wouldn’t even be considered, much less invited.

Hearing great things and reviewing all the inspiring results listed here, they knew they wanted in — but were disqualifying themselves with thoughts like:

“I’m not a good enough writer — or one at all.”
“I’m not successful enough in my business.”
“I barely have a list.”
“I’m not Shrimp Club material yet.”

That explains why some members are so shocked when they get my invitation.

Here’s the thing:

There’s no list-size or income requirement for Shrimp Club.
There’s no writing test.

If you have the right reasons for joining — you want to meet and collaborate with the best people, improve or believe more in your writing, have more fun, send more emails, get prolific, give fewer f*cks, be way more YOU and get paid for it — chances are, I’ll be inviting you.

That is, assuming you can swing the price*, in full or monthly payments, without putting yourself in financial hot water.

(Love a hot tub or hot shower, but figurative hot water is no fun.)

If you’ve waited years to apply because you were nervous you’d be turned away, I hope this puts you at ease.

If you waited because you were nervous you’d be accepted, well…that might happen. Be ready.

The application’s quick and easy, even enjoyable, and requires no printout of a recent bank or utilities statement for proof of address.

We start in October, so apply now.

And if you join, just know: I’ve got you.

xoLaura

PS - I passed the eye exam, filled out all the things (actually, I missed a few fields, and Jay did it for me), and will receive my Real ID in the mail in a few weeks.

PPS - Stop waiting for “someday” when you’re “ready.” Bet you are now. Plus, this could be the last round of Shrimp Club. You never know, because *I* never know.

PPPS - You’ll find the price here.

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